


i hope this gets to you

by inanotheruniverse



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Emily Sonnett/Kelley O'Hara, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-02-10 22:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18669589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inanotheruniverse/pseuds/inanotheruniverse
Summary: in which tobin meets christen and loses her on the same day. lindsey and emily help find the girl of tobin’s dreams in probably the craziest way.





	1. i. i've been searching for a couple words

“Are you sure about this?”

Lindsey lifts her head, tearing her eyes away from the papers she’s gathering in her arms to stare at her friend with a straight face.

Tobin’s own dart all over their kitchen, refusing to meet Lindsey’s. (And, really though, she shouldn’t be able to make her squirm because she’s the _older_ one here—but boy, is Lindsey so good at that.)

It’s a good long second of Tobin avoiding Lindsey’s narrowed eyes before the silence gets uncomfortable, so she finally asks, “What?”

“I should be the one asking you that, don’t you think?” answers Lindsey; the corner of her lips slowly tugs into a teasing smirk. “I’m not the one looking for the girl of their dreams.”

Tobin pretends that there is no hotness spreading all over her cheeks at the notion. She lifts a hand, shushing her friend, though it’s more to save face than anything. “Okay, first of all, you have to stop talking like that. It’s making me want to throw up.”

Lindsey just rolls her eyes in response.

“And second,” Tobin presses on, “this was _your_ idea. Not mine. So, _again_ , I’m asking, are you sure about this?”

“Tobs,” Lindsey sighs at her, as if she’s a petulant child and _not_ an actual adult.

“What?” Tobin feigns nonchalance with a shrug. “I just _need_ to know.”

“Fine,” Lindsey huffs, grumbling her admission. “I’m not sure about it. But what do we have to lose?”

“Uh, my reputation perhaps? People might think I’ve gone crazy. I am _aiming_ to be a pediatrician someday, you know.”

Lindsey doesn’t miss the way Tobin stiffens at the mere thought, as if eight years of pre-med and med school combined, and her parents’ constant assurances that things are gonna be fine aren’t enough to soothe her deep-seated fear.

So she smiles at Tobin, says, “That’s a stretch.” Leans forward and surprises her with a tight hug. “But hey, I came prepared, okay?”

Tobin’s the one who narrows her eyes this time as she pulls back. “I’m honestly afraid to ask.”

God, she hopes it’s not something outrageous, or they all might end up being locked up _somewhere_.

“Wow, vote of confidence much?” Lindsey huffs.

“Alright. What is it?”

“Look, if anyone bothers to ask,” she starts, and then holds a finger up to stress her point. “Which I’m pretty sure no one will because no one cares about the details. Just tell them that it’s for my film project. We’re making a mockumentary for, _hmm_ ,” she hums, pausing to think, “the film festival. We have an upcoming one anyway.”

Tobin’s skepticism slowly eases into a pleased surprise. She’s always known that Lindsey got quite an imagination and that she’d make a good, crafty director one of these days, but it never fails to catch her off guard. “Okay, that sounds… believable.”

Lindsey lets a shrug roll off her shoulders. “The film festival is real, but the project thing isn’t. They don’t trust rookies to make a good short.”

“Yeah, well, they haven’t met you yet,” Tobin feigns a begrudging admission that Lindsey catches onto right away.

The younger woman crinkles her nose as she grins. “Still think it’s a bad idea?”

Tobin sucks in a deep breath, filling her lungs. She thinks back to that day where everything started, her mind fleeting through each and every moment she has managed to ingrain in her head; the images getting more vivid as each second passes.

She met a girl—a _woman—_ that day, and she hasn’t stopped thinking about her since. A woman that’s consuming her thoughts and her dreams; a woman that makes her heart beat in twos, in tune with her name.

And it all started with a spilled cup of coffee.

...

  


**three weeks ago**

Tobin Heath is having a bad day.

Residency has been kicking her ass the whole week, what with the attendings required for consults scheduling their surgeries right when she needed them most. Tobin has to run around the entire hospital looking for free ones, zipping through floors and hallways in a blur.

But if she’s anything, it’s professional, and she’s brilliantly good at being a doctor. She mans the ER better than any chief resident ever does, granted she has to skip a few lunches and a lot of her holy bagels.

By the end of her last shift, she’s stamping patient records _DISCHARGED_. But somewhere around five thirty in the afternoon—right on the dot—the door of the residents’ station slides open, a mop of black hair popping out of the ample space in between.

Tobin knows who it is exactly, and she doesn’t bother to stifle the groan that escapes her throat. (She has good manners on a good day, but today just _isn’t_.)

Then, without looking up from the patient chart she’s poring over, she says, “What is it?”

It’s the squeak of metal against the door frame that answers her, and the distinct _click_ of it closing. Heavy footsteps follow, the sound of leather _Italian_ shoes hitting the tiled floor.

There’s a clearing of throat that Tobin rolls her eyes at before she lifts her head and plasters on a fake smile.

“Hi… James.”

James grins by way of greeting, nods at her once. “Tobin.”

“What’s up?” She asks, though she knows what he’s there for. He does it every Friday of every week, asking her out regardless of the number of times she’s told him no.

“Oh nothing.” James shrugs casually. “I was on my way to my uncle’s office and I passed by your floor, so I decided to, you know, drop by.”

Tobin tilts her head, pretending to study him while trying not to cringe at his wide grin. (But really, she just wants to see him squirm.)

He’s wearing a brown suit today. The color somehow makes her think of the stuffed monkey her four year old patient down in _Peds_ owns—which reminds her, she’s due to one last post-op rounds in the department.

James’ grin drops at Tobin’s silent indifference. He nervously loosens his tie and clears his throat again. “Anyway, I was wondering—“

“No,” Tobin quickly cuts off. She honestly doesn’t have the time to deal with his incessant invitations. All she wants is to go home and drown herself in some good music and a multitude of acrylic paints.

Lindsey is going to be at Mal’s place for the weekend, and Emily has texted earlier that she’d be spending the night in her office’s lab to put on the final touches of her rocket engine design. It’s been so long since she’s had some time for herself and she’s planning to enjoy every minute of it.

“I’m sorry but, whatever you’re going to ask, it’s going to be a no.”

“Oh.” James breathes out. “Well, maybe next week—“

“ _No_ ,” she answers pointedly. At the offended look on the man’s face, she decides to add, “Sorry, I know you’re probably a great guy and all, but, I’m just not interested.”

James presses his lips together, then, “I see.”

“But thanks for the invitation anyway.” Tobin offers him a smile, to at least take away the sting of rejection, though she knows it looks insincere, because _frankly_ , she doesn’t really care. “Dating’s just the last thing on my mind right now.”

“I guess I’ll get going then,” he says, reaching for the door. “See you around.”

“Yeah.” She waves politely, but in the end mumbles, “I really hope not.”

He catches it, _of course_. His face pulls even more taut, but Tobin has to hand it to him, he walks out of the room with as much grace as he can muster.

.

 

Her cellphone chimes at five past six. When she checks, it’s Lindsey, letting her know that she’s heading to Mal’s early because they still have a few episodes of _Grey’s Anatomy_ to catch up to.

She texts her back: _Have fun, and don’t forget to lock the door on your way out!_

She laughs at Lindsey’s _When have I ever_ , and then pockets her phone. She stacks the patient charts she’s about to hand off to Allie in one pile; rushes to pick her coat from where it rests as quickly as she can after, determined not to spend one more minute inside _Providence Presbyterian_.

Tobin quietly slides the door open and sticks her head out, looking for any signs of James. Thankfully, the hall is empty, save for the nurses by the Nurses’ station whose heads are all bowed down as they pore over their own charts.

Tobin exits her floor in five giant strides, and hits the elevator button frantically. Really though, she could do without bumping into James ever again.

When she finally makes it out of the building and the cool breeze hits her, Tobin swears it’s the best feeling she’s ever had that week.

.

 

She _does_ bump into someone.

She’s walking down the spot she’s parked her black sedan at without a single care in the world, enjoying the cup of her favorite coffee clasped in her hand. And the next thing she knows, she’s hitting something firm yet soft, and there’s a heavy hint of lavender shampoo and soft perfume assaulting her nose.

Tobin whips her head to look, ready to apologize profusely at whoever she collided into. But then she feels something wet seeping in from her coat and onto her shirt, and _holy, dear sweet Jesus it’s fucking hot_.

It burns, and she quickly drops the half empty coffee cup to unbutton her coat and fan that wet spot on her shirt in any way she can.

From somewhere in front of her, Tobin hears the person say, “Oh my gosh, I am so, so, sorry.”

The voice startlingly tugs on _something_ inside her, sending an inexplicable kind of warmth that has absolutely nothing to do with coffee. It shoots from her fingers down to her toes, settling her racing heart completely.

Tobin’s hands stop moving—or flailing, really—and her head snaps up.

She’s met with an apologetic look reflecting through anxious green eyes—the greenest Tobin has ever seen—and lips pressed together in a thin line. The woman is holding her hands out, but Tobin can see the restraint she’s putting on herself, trying not to reach out to her completely.

 _She must be terribly nice_ , Tobin thinks, judging by the concern she feels radiating off of the other woman.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman repeats. Tobin can see her hands reaching out again, but she pulls it back quickly, as if realizing that she’s about to get into Tobin’s personal space. “Are you okay? Please tell me you’re fine.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re fine,” Tobin stumbles, her eyes widening when she realizes what’s just come out of her mouth. “I mean—I mean I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

She already knows that she’s normally a klutz and she doesn’t really have remarkable people skills, but there is something about the woman that makes Tobin fumble _this_ much.

“Can I buy you another cup of coffee?” The woman asks, in an accent that Tobin can’t quite place. “To make up for the one I spilled?”

“Oh,” Tobin swallows visibly. She tries to smile, hoping it doesn’t come out as a grimace, “Oh, it’s okay. It’s like, my seventeenth cup of coffee today, and the universe is probably trying to tell me to stop.”

“Something else then,” the woman says. She gets a look in her eyes as Tobin is rambling that Tobin can’t quite place; perhaps fondness, though Tobin knows it’s impossible because they’ve never even met. “Maybe dinner?”

“No, really.” Tobin waves a polite hand in gesture, “There’s no need.”

(But yeah, dinner and some ice cream sound so good right now, especially since she skipped lunch.)

“Please? I insist.”

Tobin’s starting to say, _you don’t really have to_ , but her stomach grumbles loud at the same moment and she freezes, her face quickly turning red while silently wishing to die right on the spot.

“Hmm,” the woman hums; and there’s a ghost of a smirk at the edge of her mouth. “Your stomach says otherwise.”

“Oh my God,” Tobin sputters, covering her face with a hand. This is seriously the most embarrassing moment of her entire life. “I—I don’t know what to say?”

“A yes would suffice.”

Three things happen then: the woman flashes a smile; Tobin feels completely disarmed as her heart skips _beats_ . And the _yes_ that comes out of her lips feels like she’s cementing the fact that she’s doomed because, _God_ , this woman is the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen.

“Thank you,” says the woman, smile still in place.

Yes, Tobin really _is_ doomed.

.

 

Dinner isn’t as awkward as Tobin has feared it to be. But then she guesses it’s all thanks to the woman sitting in front of her that, for some reason, makes her feel like they’ve known each other for the longest time.

“I’ve never been here,” the woman says as she observes the quaint restaurant with keen interest, her graceful fingers flipping through the menu. Then, she shifts her gaze towards Tobin. “If I were to ask, what would you get?”

Tobin lifts her head up upon hearing the question, but it takes a few seconds to register that she’s _supposed_ to answer, completely dazzled by the woman’s soft, easy grin. And when she finally does, what comes out is an embarrassing squeak.

The woman tilts her head. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Tobin swallows visibly and tries real hard not to stutter, but ultimately, she fails. “Aglio Olio. They have really good Aglio Olio, and uhm,” she clears her throat, “their Japanese Salad is really great.”

“I do love pasta. Maybe I’ll give that a try.” She closes the menu, then sends Tobin a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“I—it’s nothing.” Tobin raises a jumpy hand in gesture, waving it off. But in her nervousness, she misjudges her reach and accidentally knocks the (thankfully) empty wine glass next to her plate. “ _Shit_.”

She scrambles to pick it up, surreptitiously praying that the woman didn’t see, but she knows that that’s just not the case because her luck will never let her get away with _anything_.

“Sorry,” Tobin mumbles as she dips her head, pretending to study the menu resting on her arm. For being clumsy or for the curse word, she doesn’t really know. “I, yeah…”

Now would totally be a good time for the ground to open and swallow her whole. _Seriously_.

She hears a soft _what for_ , followed by a chuckle that sends Tobin reeling.

( _Reeling_ , like, the butterflies-in-her-stomach-heart-hammering-in-her-chest-and-a-dizzying-feeling kind.)

Tobin swallows to tamp down the feeling as she risks a glance at her. The woman doesn’t look put off or anything. She’s actually smirking, and her eyes are glittering with amusement.

In turn, it makes Tobin blow out long exhales through her nose until she feels that _unknown_ feeling in her stomach settle down and her heart go back to its regular rhythm.

Five heartbeats later—Tobin knows this because she’s counted in her head—the woman asks, “Are we ready to place our orders?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she sighs. At the woman’s nod, Tobin frees a hand— _extra_ careful this time—to flag down a waiter.

She waits for her companion to finish listing her orders. She places hers next, getting the pasta too because she really wasn’t kidding about it being good.

“So, uhm,” Tobin starts after the waiter leaves, “I don’t think we’ve really formally met?”

“Oh,” the woman nods, realizing it too. “Yes, you’re right.”

Tobin bites her lower lip as she scrounges up the courage, all the while discreetly wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans.

 _This isn’t a date_ , she reminds herself. _No need to be nervous. She’s just another woman you met._

With a subtle nod to herself, Tobin extends her hand out. “I’m Tobin. Tobin Heath.”

“And I’m Christen,” the woman replies, meeting Tobin’s halfway through. “Just… Christen.”

It’s Christen’s soft, gentle hand that Tobin feels at the first touch, which turns into a _sure_ hold as their hands slide together and lock.

“It’s nice to meet you,” says Tobin as her shaky smile slowly grows into a confident—and even teasing—grin. “Just Christen.”

Christen laughs softly; tilts her head and says,  “I think I’d say the pleasure is all mine.”

Tobin swears she feels Christen’s hand squeeze hers, but Christen’s palm is so warm against her own that it’s distracting her from any other thought that isn’t about the eyes of the woman sitting in front of her now.

She doesn’t really know how much time has passed, or what it is exactly that she hears buzzing from somewhere beside her.

Because Christen’s eyes are so green, Tobin thinks, so, _so_ , green, and so, _so_ , warm, and it’s pulling her in.

Yet, it’s Christen’s voice that snaps her back into attention; Christen’s voice calling her name. “Tobin?”

The rest of her surroundings rushes back in: she’s been holding Christen’s hand long enough for it to be awkward, and that buzzing she’s hearing from somewhere in the background is the waiter asking if she’d like some water.

She drops Christen’s hand as if it _burns_ , and turns to the waiter to give him a stiff nod. “I—yes, please. Thank you.”

Tobin takes her time. She takes her time, alternating between sucking in air and letting out jagged breaths, before facing Christen again. At least until she finds her voice to say, “I’d tell you it’s not but we’d probably just end up arguing the whole night.”

Because Christen’s smile still has her reeling, and she has not recovered.

“That, I have to agree with,” Christen concurs.

And there’s _that_ look again that Tobin still hasn’t placed. All she knows is that it makes her feel warm all over, from her head down to her toes, like a good cup of coffee on a rainy Sunday morning.

Tobin smiles in return. They settle into a comfortable silence until their food arrives, but they don’t really mind.

.

 

“I have to say, Tobin. This Aglio Olio is indeed good,” Christen says after the first bite.

Tobin flashes a smile in answer. (Lips closed of course, because, _God forbid_ , she’s got a leaf stuck in between her teeth.)

“And you seem to have chosen the perfect wine to go along with it,” Christen adds, sounding fairly impressed.

It shouldn’t make feel her elated, Tobin knows, that she’s done something right, since most of her dates she messes up royally without effort.

But she reminds herself, too, for the umpteenth time, that it isn’t a date; and _that_ shouldn’t make her feel disappointed either.

“You sound like you know a lot about fine wines,” Tobin finally speaks, masking the feeling with keen interest.

“I don’t, really. But I do know how to appreciate a bottle or two.”

Tobin nods, taking mental notes before she can even stop herself. “Anything else interesting you won’t mind telling me about?”

Christen purses her lips, thinking, then, “Well, I don’t really like meat.”

And for some really weird reason, that makes Tobin laugh.

.

 

She finds out that Christen’s just visiting her sister who lives in town during their walk through the Japanese Garden.

It’s Tobin who extends the invitation this time, under the guise of showing Christen around when she hears that Christen has been to the town thrice, and yet, she never ever set foot on the famed park.

But really, it’s just Tobin not wanting the night to _ever_ end.

She leads Christen into one of the benches in the middle of the park; a perfect spot actually, Tobin soon realizes as she gazes at the hanging string lights that glitter like the stars they’re under.

Tobin pats the empty space next to her, her smile growing wide as Christen settles a little closer.

She props her hand on the bench, fingers drumming against the curved edge. “So, how are you liking our humble town so far?”

“I love it,” Christen answers earnestly. “There’s a certain kind of freedom here, where you can just… _be_. And people won’t bother you.”

“Yeah,” Tobin agrees with a small smile. “Everyone here’s too polite to meddle with other people’s businesses.”

“I find that to be a good thing, to be honest.”

“Not getting much privacy where you’re from?” Tobin lightly quips.

Christen’s answering smile is timid; the kind that tells Tobin that there’s a story behind it, behind _Christen_. “I’m afraid not.”

“Oh,” Tobin dips her head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Tobin. You don’t have to be.” Christen raises a hand, her fingers tucking the lock of hair tousled by the wind back into place. “Portland really just came as a pleasant surprise. This time, at least.”

Tobin opens her mouth to agree, but the words get stuck in her throat as she watches Christen lean forward, feeling Christen’s hand settle _dangerously_ close to hers, their skins almost touching.

She feels goosebumps break out, and she can only pray that Christen doesn’t feel the way her skin raises. God, she can’t have Christen thinking that she’s a creep.

“Uh yeah,” Tobin pushes herself to speak. She _won’t_ let her awkward fumbling ruin _anything_. “Yup, I totally get that.”

“I almost don’t want to leave,” Christen whispers.

Tobin watches her stare at the darkening horizon. She hears the sigh that escapes the other woman, sees the way her chest rises and falls wistfully.

She wants to say _you don’t have to go_ , wants to ask if she could stay instead and maybe meet her friends. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t, because what right does she have to ask something as huge as that from a woman she just met?

So instead she says, “You can always come back, you know,” and tries really hard not to let her disappointment show when Christen tells her that she wishes it would be that easy.

But Christen can feel it coming from a mile away.

“I have it on good faith that we’ll meet again,” she tells Tobin. “Maybe not here, but we still will. Perhaps you’ll spill coffee on me then.”

“I sure hope not.” Tobin shakes her head, laughing. “But with my luck, it’s probably going to go that way.”

Christen’s lips tug into a knowing smirk, but it drops as quick as the _beep_ that echoes in the air.

Tobin watches her fish her phone from her coat’s pocket, and doesn’t miss the frown etching deep on Christen’s forehead. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Christen breathes out. She rushes to stand, swaying a little on her spot, but she is able to hold herself steady. “Though, I just remembered I have to go meet someone tonight.”

Hearing those words, Tobin feels her heart plummet right away.

She doesn’t ask who it is exactly; it isn’t really her place. Though, she can’t help but wonder if it’s someone Christen will spend the night— _this_ night—with.

An entirely different kind of ache squeezes her heart at the mere thought, so strong and so sudden that she almost wants to gasp for air.

But Christen has finally managed to tear her eyes away from her phone’s screen before Tobin gets the chance to even do anything; and she’s now looking at Tobin with sad eyes and a wistful smile.

“Well, I guess we better get going then,” Tobin manages to say amidst the nameless feeling that’s still constricting her heart.

Yet, it must have been written all over her face despite trying real hard to not let any emotion show, because Christen’s quickly clearing up, “It’s just a friend, in case you’re wondering.”

The ache in her chest ebbs away just as quickly as it has appeared. It’s replaced with a tinge of embarrassment as her mouth forms an _o_. And then she puffs her cheeks, expels air as she mumbles, “I—I see.”

“I had a great night, please know that,” Christen says, and it’s almost pleading. “The best night I’ve ever had in over a year.”

Her body makes a noticeable twitch, as if wanting to take a step closer to Tobin, but she rolls her shoulders and stays firmly in place. She steels herself, her jaw clenching before she says, “But I have to get going.”

“I—“ Tobin tries to say, the words lost in between her jumbled thoughts. She knew that in the end, Christen would have to leave, that the night wouldn’t last. But she can’t help but feel like asking for just one more minute with Christen, one more minute to get lost in her sad eyes and to find out the cause, one more minute to make her smile and relish in it.

But Tobin doesn’t say anything. Because she doesn’t really know _how_ to ask.

When it dawns on her that Tobin’s no longer going to speak, Christen whispers, “Good night, Tobin Heath.” She throws Tobin one last wistful smile, and then spins on her heels.

Though it looks like it has taken her such effort to do so; Tobin can see it in her eyes, in the way her feet move but the rest of her body protests, how much Christen doesn’t want to leave but _has_ to.

And, frankly, Tobin doesn’t want her to, either.

She catches Christen by the wrist before the other woman can make it far, tugging lightly until Christen turns back to her.

“Tobin?”

Christen’s brows are furrowed; Tobin has to resist reaching a hand out to smooth it.

Instead, she asks, “Can—can I see you again?”

Christen smiles softly at her then, the kind that reaches her eyes. She looks so beautiful it hurts, aches in ways she wants to paint Christen past a canvass and onto her skin.

But _anything_ other than the real thing would never be enough, she knows, so maybe she just has to settle with making Christen smile like that every day.

“I’m already looking forward to it.” Christen tilts her head and nods before walking down the cobbled path, taking Tobin’s breath _and_ Tobin’s heart away with her.

...


	2. ii. that could grow wings and fly like birds

“Good morning, T,” Emily greets when she sees Tobin step out of the car to pick her up at her work lab the next morning.

“G’morning,” Tobin greets back as she makes a grab for Emily’s overnight bag, offering a steaming cup of coffee in exchange.

Emily makes a grab for the paper cup, feeling the need for a shot of caffeine through her very, very tired system. She hops into the car after one savored sip, and doesn’t bother protesting even though she’s perfectly capable of taking care of her things on her own despite her sleepy state. She has long accepted that chivalry is Tobin’s second nature.

Tobin stashes the bag inside the car’s trunk, slides into the driver’s seat after, and pulls the car door closed.

Emily just watches her the entire time, switching between curious eyes and arched brows.

A ghost of a smile seems to just rest on Tobin’s lips, something that’s _there_ but not quite fully. It’s hidden beneath the nibbling of Tobin’s teeth, in the way she catches her bottom lip in between.

There’s a bounce in her steps that just exude giddiness, yet, it’s tamped down by Tobin _trying_ to keep a straight face.

Emily hums _interesting_ under her breath, then, “Were you on a date last night?”

Tobin’s triumphant yell after she finally wrestles her seat belt on quickly morphs into a feigned scoff, “What?”

Emily, in turn, rolls her eyes. “You’re being _suspiciously_ weird.”

“I’m not being weird. _You’re_ being weird.”

Emily gives her a smirk that says Tobin has just proved her point, and yet, also feels a need to state, “Your voice is all high. And,” she raises a finger to pluck at the belt wrapped across Tobin’s torso. “you got your seat belt all twisted.”

Tobin quickly looks down, and then groans.

“I’m just asking.” Emily tries to placate her obviously flustered friend, shrugging nonchalantly. “I mean, it’s been a while, so it’s totally okay.”

Tobin snorts, then, “Try _years_.”

“Okay, fine, _years_.” Emily concedes. “So, were you?”

“What makes you think I was?” Tobin leaves the question hanging. She busies herself with undoing the seat belt just so she can hide the blush on her face that she’s sure is going to give her away.

Although, well, _technically_ , she wasn’t on a date, but, still—

“You woke up at,” Emily takes a quick pause to glance at the blue digits flashing by the dashboard, “seven on your only day off this week.”

“I did say I’d pick you up and take you home, didn’t I?”

“And you were all smiles when you got here.”

“It’s my day off,” Tobin counters, shrugging her own nonchalance. “That’s reason enough for me.”

“Tobin.” Emily throws her a look that clearly says, _really_. “You look like you want to fling yourself into space.”

Tobin snorts a second time but chooses to not dignify her friend’s point with a response.

At this, Emily pouts. But Tobin merely throws her a _yeah nice try_ , so she pulls out the secret weapon that never fails to go straight for Tobin’s jugular. “No secrets, right?”

Tobin throws her hands up in the air, giving up the pretense of fixing her hopeless seatbelt. “Okay.” She drops her entire weight against the seat rest. “It wasn’t a date.”

“But?” Emily waits expectantly, watching a dreamy smile slowly bloom on Tobin’s lips.

“But yes, I did meet someone last night. She spilled coffee all over me.”

She scrunches her face, nose crinkling in confusion. “And that’s romantic?”

“ _Fuck_ no. It was painful as hell. But the rest of the night was, I guess.”

Emily shuffles on her seat, propping her weight against the seat rest, and quietly takes a sip from her coffee cup.

But it doesn’t lull Tobin into the false sense that Emily’s going to drop it. She _knows_ her friend after all.

She’s proven right when Emily starts the whole thing again. “You know I’m not gonna stop digging for deets right? Better to just cough them up now.”

“Oh, Should I?”

“Come on!”

“Let’s see,” Tobin answers coyly. She tilts her head, pretending to ponder the thought, but the grin she hides behind her own cup lid while she takes a sip tells Emily what she wants to know.

“Cough it up, Powell. Tell me! Was she pretty?”

Tobin hisses out the scalding feeling at the tip of her tongue. Then, she opens her mouth to speak, tries to say, “That’s a gross understatement, trust me. She’s just...”

But she’s failing to find the right words, so she just lets her free hand flail in gesture, and leaves it hanging in the air.

“Speechless, I see.” Emily nods her head in approval. “You better have that second date lined up.”

“I…” Tobin starts, and then sighs in defeat. “It’s not.”

It’s Emily who scoffs this time despite the disappointment lacing Tobin’s tone. “What?” She glares at her disapprovingly— _like they haven’t taught her anything_. “Why not?”

“Look, last night wasn’t even a date.” Tobin reasons, looking helpless; the slope of her shoulders drooping. “She spilled coffee on me, and then asked me to dinner as an apology.”

Emily _tsks_ , then, “Tobin.” She schools her face into a serious expression, and leans past the handbrake to close in on her friend, staying silent.

It unnerves Tobin just as she has been counting on, to the point that Tobin is forced to turn and meet her eyes. “Repeat after me: no one buys a random stranger dinner if they’re not interested.”

“Yeah, well, she offered coffee first and I said she didn’t have to.”

“But she still insisted on dinner, right?” Emily says matter-of-factly. At Tobin’s timid nod, she adds, “Trust me, she’s interested.”

Tobin sighs in surrender. Her once stiff arms—propped by her hands as she grips the steering wheel—hangs low now. “I don’t even know if she’s into women, you know.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to ask her,” Emily points out, deciding to tack on an _over a cup of coffee, preferably_ as she sees Tobin’s resolve slowly weaken.

“Yeah?” Tobin mumbles. She dips her head, looking at Emily sheepishly from under the lids.

Emily responds with nothing but a soft smile in kind. “You _know_ it,” she says. It’s not one in jest, not when a strong, consistently confident Tobin is shying away from _something_.

Tobin’s eyes slowly light up as she warms up to the idea. Why she didn’t think of that first, she doesn’t really know, but, _yes_ , she can definitely do that.

An _official_ date, _this_ time.

She stews over the thought in silence for a moment—Emily willingly letting her—her mind already lost in visions of her and Christen together, of perfect date plans and holding hands.

“You should call her,” Emily urges on when it looks like Tobin’s starting to get a little _too_ lost.

“Yeah,” Tobin easily agrees, nodding her head while Emily stares at her in amusement. “Yeah I can do that.” She reaches for her phone, excitedly scrolling through her contacts.

But _it_ hits her a little too late. One day too late.  

“Oh _fucking fuck_.”

Emily snorts at Tobin’s sudden outburst. “What’s up?”

“I forgot to ask for her number!”

.

 

She tries really, _really_ hard not to roll her eyes at Tobin’s umpteenth sigh. She feels bad for her, she really does, but she’s been quietly… moping around since they got back to their apartment and it’s only ten in the morning.

Emily understands that it’s not her friend’s fault, although it _kind_ of is because she’s the one who forgot to ask, but, _still_ , she hates seeing her sad.

So she says, “Maybe we can look her sister up, and then you can ask for her number.”

There’s a thud that makes Emily jump a little and whip her head. It’s Tobin’s elbows hitting the dining table as she props her hands up to bury her face in her palms, and groans loud enough that it makes Emily press her lips together to stifle a laugh that almost escapes.

“I don’t know where her sister is, either,” she hears her whine. “I don’t even remember her name. God, I’m so stupid.”

Emily stretches a hand out then, patting Tobin’s shoulder in sympathy.

(As the thumb of her free hand fires a quick text to Lindsey.)

.

 

_Code red bring ben &jerry’s cookie dough _

**_The Great Horan [10:09 AM]_ **

_We have a code now?_

_Just bring the damn ice cream!_

.

 

Emily takes the ultimate pleasure of recounting _everything_ to Lindsey. It goes as well as Tobin has expected.

Which means Lindsey has laughed for five minutes straight, choking on ice cream some thirty seconds in between, and cackling back as if nothing happened.

Tobin’s tempted to question fate why is she even friends with both, as she watches Lindsey double over and slap her hand against her knee a few _jolly_ times.

But when it all trickles down into giggles and Lindsey is done wiping the tears of laughter under her eyes, Lindsey says, “It’s okay, Tobs. _We’ll_ find her.”

Tobin smiles a warm smile; thinks— _knows_ —that _that’s why_.

...

  


**two weeks and three days ago**

Tobin drops herself down unceremoniously on the couch, perching her laptop securely on her lap. It’s Netflix and chill day ( _literally_ ) as she has dubbed it, and so she shuffles beneath the pillows surrounding her, sinking in further, and rests her crossed ankles on top of their coffee table.

The queue is up and ready, with a bowl of freshly microwaved popcorn by her side just waiting to be scooped up.

But she hears two _pings_ before she can even press play. When she checks on her phone, it’s Lindsey asking her to check out a link that looks suspiciously like a Facebook profile. So she puts the current episode on hold for a few minutes and brings up the thread on her instead laptop to read more of the messages.

Tobin’s brows furrow quizzically as her fingers hit the keys to ask: _who is this_ . They drum against the flat space of the device after she presses _Enter_ , waiting until the three dots disappear from the small window.

 _It’s a list of Christen,_ reads Lindsey’s reply, _Christens? Whatever. I was bored this morning and I figured why not_.

Oh.

Tobin drags the pointer above Lindsey’s find, index finger hovering at the button. Her heart is pounding and her hands are trembling, because she may be a click away from finally finding Christen and that just feels too much; her chances resting on _one_ click feels _too_ much.

As if sensing her hesitation, Lindsey sends another message: _Won’t know till you try, right?_

“Fine,” grumbles Tobin, her fingers typing the word along.

She clicks the link, _finally_ , and watches with bated breath as a new window springs up to load the page.

It takes four seconds, that Tobin swears it’s the longest four seconds of her life.

The breath of relief comes just as the page finishes loading, only to be replaced by an even deeper sigh that fills her lungs, because the idea that Christen may exist outside of her memory now is incredibly daunting.

Tobin swallows. Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And then, she starts to scroll.

.

 

It doesn’t really last, what with Emily striding in not even halfway through.

She’s dawdling as she approaches Tobin, typing on her phone and spinning her keys on her free hand’s index finger. Tobin can’t help but think her timing has been deliberate.

Emily pockets her phone next, and then halts at the sight of her friend hunched over her laptop. Tobin’s nose is a hair’s breadth away from touching the screen, she notes, so she asks, “What are you doing?”

Her eyes narrow as Tobin pulls back in a snap with wide eyes; a deer caught in headlights.

“Nothing.” A hand darts out, instinctively slamming the laptop shut.

Emily, dubious, reaches for Tobin's laptop— _like it’s hers_ —and actually has the nerve to ask, “You’re watching porn, aren’t you?”

“What?” Tobin cries, mortified and blushing profusely at the accusation. “Dude, no!”

Emily smirks at the way her whole face is now flushed in a violent shade of red. “Really.”

“I wasn’t!”

“If you say so,” Emily singsongs.

Tobin sighs as she rolls her eyes. She could be blue to the face and Emily would still not believe it, so she doesn’t waste another breath in trying to convince her otherwise.

...

  


**two weeks ago**

Lindsey gets the coffee started, filling it to the brim. Emily and Tobin have been in a coffee kick lately, both going through twice the number of cups they normally do whenever they’re at home.

(With Emily, she knows it’s to keep her awake while working on her project; Tobin, not so much.)

The kitchen is quiet, save for the sound of their coffee machine percolating and the scrape of rubber spatula against metal pan.

She watches Tobin wordlessly flip pancakes for a few beats, then, decides to ask, “Still no luck?”

Tobin breathes out a _no_ dejectedly. Emily’s got a knack for finding people and she’s _damn_ good at it, but the one person Tobin desperately wishes for her to find, Emily can’t seem to uncover even a single trace of. “She said she’s just visiting. She probably even left already.”

“But she didn’t say when exactly she’s leaving,” Lindsey says, tone encouraging.

“It’s been a week—”

“It’s _just_ a week,” she counters quickly. “There’s a good chance that she’s still here. Come on, Tobs. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“A good feeling?”

“Yeah, like—” Lindsey pauses with purpose.

Tobin hears her clearing her throat. She only does that when she’s about to say something unexpected or equally cheesy that would leave one of them or all of them gagging.

“Like?” She drawls out with slow nods; a gesture for her to continue.

“Like, it was meant to happen. You were meant to meet her.”

Tobin throws her a puzzled look, then studies her with playful suspicion. She doesn’t tease her about her reddening cheeks, but she does ask, “Have you been going through your romcom binge again?”

“I haven’t,” Lindsey huffs. “I’m just saying it’s possible.”

“In movies,” Tobin says, plating the pancakes with practiced ease and placing them at the center of their small table. “But, Linds, this is real life. I don’t think I’m that lucky.”

“Says who?” Lindsey protests.

“Okay, no one did, but… I…” Tobin can’t help but trail off at her friend’s determined stare.

“You won’t know until you tried, right?” Lindsey says, biting the piece of pancake she’s speared on with her fork with a triumphant grin when she sees the contemplative look on Tobin’s face.

...

  


**one week ago**

Tobin crosses one more name off her list—a list Emily has scribbled down at the last minute; names of people Emily has, in a sense, made good business with within the past years.

One more favor cashed in but coming up empty, she thinks as she reads:

**_Mewis [5:05 PM]_ **

_Sorry, no Christen in the area that matched your description. You sure that’s her real name?_

_Even if it isn’t_ , Tobin types back, frustrated thumbs and all, _that’s all I got_.

She goes through her list once more, not one bit surprised that half has already been crossed. About a third of it had gone through hotels and inns and _everything_ , but they all came up with nothing.

Tobin runs a weary hand on her face over and over until her phone lights up again, snapping her back to attention.

**_Mewis [5:08 PM]_ **

_Okay. Will do one more sweep around. Tell Sonnett we’re even._

Tobin fires a quick, _I just did_. And then pulls up the reply she just got from Emily, chuckling as she reads it.

**_Sonnett the Rocket [5:09 PM]_ **

_Honestly, these fuckers are getting off way too easy._

...

  


**five days ago**

Emily and Lindsey manage to convince her to go around Washington Park in hopes that they’d bump into Christen. Lindsey reasons that maybe she’s the lucky charm Tobin needs, and Emily says she’s coming with because, well, Tobin needs someone to remind her to get Christen’s number this time.

(Also, that she _really_ needs to get out of the apartment so that she could stop moping. Neither Emily nor Lindsey tells her that, of course.)

Tobin gives them both a hard time, but ultimately, she relents. She can never really deny her best friends anything—and herself, really, because she _needs_ this.

So here they are, spending their afternoon roaming around the park for hours, making sure that they have a good time even if their search ends up entirely fruitless.

It turns out just as what Tobin has expected. They didn’t see Christen or even a trace of her, though Tobin keeps a smile on for her friends’ sake, trying to hide the sinking feeling that’s been churning in her stomach since morning.

“Tired?” She asks Emily as soon as she notices that she’s starting to drag her feet as she walks.

Emily shakes her head, fueled by determination to find _this_ Christen woman that’s making Tobin smile and causing her to drag herself dispiritedly all around the apartment at the same time.

But she’s hungry too, and a little cranky, which is her ultimate tell. So Tobin grabs her by the shoulders and guides her towards one of the vacant benches near the river.

“Stay there,” Tobin instructs as she gently pushes her down to sit, “I’ll go grab us some hotdogs.”

“Fine,” she grunts. She watches Tobin go until she’s a blur of dark blue coat and golden brown hair.

Lindsey plops down next to Emily, roaming her gaze around and smiling at the many dogs she can see playing with their respective owners. Lindsey’s eyes follow the grown Golden Retriever that’s running for a thrown stick. It landed near the guy whom she remembers is one of those that are handing out flyers for a soccer semi-final match scheduled tonight. (She only knows because she’s been handed one too.)

The dog picks the stick up with its mouth and trots proudly back to its owner, its head held high. Lindsey’s smile grows into a grin.

She doesn’t notice that Tobin is already back, so when she hears her ask _what’s so funny_ , she almost jumps off the bench.

“Tobin!” Lindsey huffs out loud. “That wasn’t funny!”

“It so was,” Emily teases, laughing to herself as she watches Lindsey fold her arms over her chest and huff some more.

“Alright, fine. It wasn’t,” Tobin gives in. “But, here, I brought you something.”

She holds out the takeout boxes like a peace offering, which Lindsey eagerly—though slightly begrudgingly—accepts.

“Thanks,” she says after swallowing her first bite.

Tobin plops down next to Lindsey, sandwiching her in between Emily and herself. She fishes the bottles of water that she’s also bought out of the plastic bag and passes one to each.

She cracks hers open, taking a huge gulp before speaking. “So…”

Lindsey turns her head, looking at Tobin expectantly.

“It’s gonna get dark soon. Wanna head home?”

Lindsey doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns her head back to the guy with the flyers, staring at him—at the stack of papers cradled in his arm to be exact.

“Linds?”

She returns her gaze to Tobin again. This time, with a huge, almost victorious smile.

 _She’s got it_.

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

...

  


**four days ago**

She’s poring over her post-op charts when her phone chirps out loud inside her pocket.

Tobin drops the hand holding the clipboard and fishes her phone with her free hand. The screen is brightly illuminated and she can see the short preview of the message she just got.

When she sees the name of the sender, she all but throws the charts at the nearest nurses’ station, and leaves a quick _I’ll be back_ over her shoulder to the confused nurses.

The resting quarters opposite the station is thankfully empty. She rushes inside, and with shaking fingers, swipes the pad of her thumb to unlock the phone, her heart almost up in her throat.

**_Det. Harris [7:23 PM]_ **

_A Christen came to the station earlier. Medium height. Long black hair. Green eyes._

Tobin swallows thickly, tamping down the mix of nerves and dread, and that spark of hope she’s trying so hard not to kindle.

_Yeah? What for?_

**_Det. Harris [7:26 PM]_ **

_Some guy's applying for a position here. I think she was with him._

Tobin’s fingers grip the phone impossibly tighter. God, what if Christen really does have _someone_ ? She can’t be— _doesn’t want to be; never wants to be_ —the kind of person who ruins relationships.

But, maybe, _maybe_ , this is what she needs. The _closure_ she needs so she could stop pining over some woman she only really just met once.

It’s the same thought that pushes her to type, _Got an ID of her?_ , despite that nameless feeling squeezing her heart again, at the thought that Christen is already with somebody else.

Maybe, _maybe_ , after this, she can finally forget everything and put all of it behind her.

 _This her?_ pops up as she gets her reply, along with a snapped photo of _Christen’s_ driver’s license.

Christen is _indeed_ a woman with long black hair; but it doesn’t fall in waves the way _Christen’s_ does. And her eyes—her eyes are nowhere near the warm shade of green Tobin remembers drowning in on.

She visibly sags against the door, heaving deep breaths, her shoulders slumping as the tension slowly leaves her body.

Though suddenly feeling weak, she lifts both her sluggish thumbs up and types, _No, not her._

**_Det. Harris [7:30 PM]_ **

_Copy that. Will keep an eye just in case._

Still propped against the back of the door, she replies with a quick _thanks_. She’s relieved, she really is, but she doesn’t really know how to feel about the fact that she’s back to square one.

.

 

The weight of uncertainty settles on her feet, making Tobin’s steps slow and heavy.

It’s the first thing Lindsey notices when she sets foot inside their apartment; prompts her to ask, “I take it it didn’t go well?”

With a deep sigh, Tobin drops her keys on the fish bowl filled with colored aquarium rocks. “No one came up with anything.”

She slumps against the closed door, tipping her head up to look at the ceiling. _Anywhere_ but at Lindsey, really.

“Sometimes I think I just dreamed all of it up, you know?” Comes out as an afterthought of a self-deprecating smile.

Lindsey, in turn, shuffles on the couch and sits up straighter, her eyes never leaving Tobin. “Tobs…”

Tobin shakes her head first, and then both of her hands, like she’s shaking the feeling off of her system. “Anyway, I’m gonna go to bed.”

“You don’t want dinner?”

“I think I’ll pass. I’m not hungry anyway.”

Lindsey follows Tobin’s walking form, and only takes her eyes off of her when Tobin disappears behind her room’s door.

She grabs her phone, swipes to Emily’s thread, and then types _Please tell me you got something. I'm all out._

**_Sonnett the Rocket [9:31 PM]_ **

_Hate to break it to you but, I’m not the convenience store, Linds. I don’t stock the alcohol._

Emily’s reply would have been hilarious, if she isn’t so worried about their friend. So she shoots a reply, _Not that, smartass. I mean, Tobin._

 _Working on it,_ Emily answers. Yet, somehow, Lindsey feels like Emily isn’t so sure, either.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter 2! if any of you folks get reminded of an old justin timberlake mv, then u right. the fic's loosely based from that.
> 
> thanks for reading, and i hope you like it! and oooh, hmu @ geekmythologys.tumblr.com :D


	3. iii. and of course i know that it sounds absurd

**three days ago**

She’s going crazy.

Either that, or Portland is suddenly filled with women who all think that black coats, long, curly hair and green eyes is the trend these days.

Though, they’re never really the same; none of them can match the shade of green that frequents Tobin’s dreams—like grass covered in dew, glinting under the first sunshine after a storm.

There’s one, there’s _one_ who would have, except she comes up way past Tobin’s temples, that Tobin has to tilt her head a little to see her eyes; and she doesn’t have the ghost of Christen’s smile that Tobin has permanently etched in her mind.

But Tobin’s already darting a hand out, stopping the stranger in her steps before she even realizes what she’s doing.

She has green eyes too, but are incredibly lighter. Her hair is long, but it doesn’t fall in waves the way Christen’s does.

“I—“ Tobin starts to say, an apology hanging at the tip of her tongue. But the woman’s—no, the _girl’s—_ companion snatches the arm off of her once _sure_ hold.

“Can we help you?” Tobin hears a hiss.

“I’m sorry!” Tobin says, holding both her hands up in apology at the same time the girl puts a calming hand on her companion’s arm.

“I think she just mistook me for someone else,” the girl says, and then turns to Tobin. “Didn’t you?”

Tobin nods, feeling her whole face flush with embarrassment. “I did. And I’m sorry. I just really thought you were someone I know.”

The girl smiles at her kindly. “Please, there’s no need to worry.”

“Thanks,” Tobin mumbles, trying not to grimace at the threatening look the girl’s blonde companion leaves her with. “I’ll let you be on your way.”

She’s going crazy. She _knows_ she is.

...

  


**two days ago**

**_The Great Horan [4:59 PM]_ **

_Hey Tobs, can you pick me up and come with me to the store when your shift’s over? I need to grab some stuff for a project_.

Tobin reads the message twice before hitting the reply button, and then glances at her watch as she types: _Yeah sure, but only if you put the phone down because you shouldn’t be texting while you’re in class!_

 _YES MOM_ is Lindsey’s reply; Tobin doesn’t need to see her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. She laughs, types, _I'm just saying. And yeah, sure_.

Her phone beeps not even a few seconds after. It reads _Awesome!_ when she opens the message. Tobin re-locks the screen, sets her phone down with a gentle shake of the head and gets back to work.

(Or at least she tries to.)

.

 

She picks up Lindsey later on, who only shrugs at her in response when she asks her what she’s going to do with the thick stack of blank recycled papers she’s carrying in her arms.

Tobin crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow at her. She stares wordlessly until Lindsey groans and grumbles, “It’s for my project.”

“Are you going to build an entire village out of paper maches or?”

“I’ll explain later,” Lindsey answers. It’s quite obvious that she’s trying to evade the question, judging by the way her eyes shift. “I gotta get the other stuff first.”

.

 

Tobin is honestly wondering what the final leg of film school consists of as they roam through the aisles of the store down their block, and what they’d need duct tape and super glue for. She briefly contemplates on asking, but, yeah, she thinks she’s better off _not_ knowing.

Besides, it’s really probably some _mache_ thing. Tobin’s pretty positive, what with the loads of paper Lindsey has dumped on the back seat of her car.

But then, Lindsey’s running back to the aisle to grab another roll of duct tape and a staple gun, plus three boxes of staple wires, and Tobin’s no longer so sure.

...

  


**one day ago**

She’s reading the newest issue of _The Modern Medicine_ when she hears a loud thud in front of her, something that sounds like one of Emily’s thick books thrown on top of their wooden dining table.

She lowers the magazine down, ready to reprimand her, because, really, their table isn’t _that_ sturdy.

Except, what greets her is the recycled papers from yesterday, and one Lindsey Horan smirking at her.

Tobin’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, but it quickly turns to apprehension because she _knows_ her friend’s smirk.

She’s up to something, that much is clear, and judging by the papers in front of her, the box of markers and colored pencils right next to it, she’s gonna be roped into whatever brilliant plan she has set her mind on.

Deciding to go with nonchalance, she greets her. “Good morning.”

Lindsey wordlessly pulls a chair out in response, but scoots it so that she’s facing Tobin when she finally sits. Then, eagerly leaning forward, she says, “I know how to find Christen.”

Tobin stares at her for a good long second, studying her face. Lindsey doesn’t even flinch under Tobin’s, well, _scrutiny_ , and that’s when Tobin knows that she’s _serious_ about this.

“Linds,” she sighs as she flips the magazine close, putting it away. “I think it’s time for us—for this... to stop.”

“But we’re gonna find her, I promise,” Lindsey replies, in a firm tone of voice full of conviction that Tobin can’t believe is coming from her. (But Lindsey’s always had a fire in her that no one can ever put out. She can’t help but be swayed a little.) “And I know just how!”

“How then?” Tobin asks, challenging. “You’ve tried every trick you know. Emily asked around. We’ve looked for her everywhere. We were all but one step in crossing the _stalking_ line.”

“I know,” grumbles Lindsey. And she _does_ , what with Tobin herself electing to be in charge of keeping everyone’s _ways_ in line. “But maybe we’ve been going at it the wrong way. Maybe we don’t need to look for her.”

Tobin grabs her cup of coffee, taking a sip, then, “So what should we be doing then?”

“What if she needs to come to us?”

Tobin turns quiet for a moment. In all honesty, that possibility has never even crossed her mind, and she’s simultaneously embarrassed and proud, because, well, it’s a sensible point.

At her friend’s silence, Lindsey presses on. “She’s somewhere out there. And if she sees that you’re looking for her, then she’ll come to you.”

Tobin heaves a deep breath, and then groans. She honestly can’t believe that she’s asking the question, but she does, anyway. “And how are we going to do that?”

Lindsey scrambles for a marker on the box and grabs a piece of paper as well. “By spreading the word!”

“By what now?!” Tobin blurts out, a little too loudly.

The sound completely wakes a still dozy Emily up, stumbling towards her two friends as she rubs the sleep off of her eyes. “What’s this meeting for? And where’s the coffee?”

“Brewing a second batch just for you, Houston,” Lindsey greets, and then cocks her head to point at the coffee machine currently percolating.

She pulls a chair, patting the empty seat. “I was just telling Tobin how we can find Christen.”

“Oh,” says Emily, and then, hums. She plops down the chair, resting her weight against its back. “I honestly thought we’re done with that. I mean, it’s been weeks.”

At that, Lindsey’s shoulders slump down. “Come on. Not you too.”

“Em’s right, Linds,” Tobin agrees. “I don’t think—”

“Just—hear me out, okay?” Lindsey quickly cuts off. Things are _so_ not going according to plan.

Tobin chances a look at Emily, her eyes asking. Emily simply shrugs in response, which—yeah, isn’t exactly helpful.

Tobin returns her attention to Lindsey then, who looks earnest and just really, _really_ wanting to help.

Finally, Tobin sighs, and then nods at Lindsey. “Okay. _Okay._ ”

Lindsey breathes out her relief, sucking a lungful next. “I know what we have to do.”

It’s Emily who asks, “And that is?”

Lindsey pulls a glossy piece of paper from under the stack of the recycled ones. It’s the one she got from when they roamed around Washington Park, about the soccer semi-final match (that’s probably done now).

She holds it up for Tobin and Emily to see, and then, grins. “Flyers.”

.

 

Fifteen pounding heartbeats later, a strangled sound escapes from Tobin’s throat; Emily doesn’t say another word, but her eyes scream amusement.

God, _no_. No matter how bad Tobin wants to find Christen, she just can’t put something personal, something private, out there for people to feast on. And because most people are plain assholes, they’d probably just laugh at her, mock her.

She can’t. She _won’t_.

She tells Lindsey this, that she doesn’t think it’s a good idea. That she doesn’t think people will be welcoming, even if they’re in the most accepting part of town one can find in Portland. And that she’s just _not_ comfortable revealing a piece of herself and leaving it for everyone to see.

Lindsey ponders it quietly for a moment, looking dejected. But all her thoughts ultimately come down to one thing; she _knows_ —she just knows that Tobin and that Christen woman were meant to meet each other. She can feel it in her bones.

Besides, it’s how every movie goes.

She lets her lower lip jut out, and then asks, “Isn’t she worth it?”

“Oh my God,” Tobin groans, dropping her head until her forehead hits the table. Emily and Lindsey always know to aim for the jugular; their talent, of course. The little shits.

Of course _she’s_ worth it. She took Tobin’s heart with her that night they parted ways. She won’t have a heart to give away ever again.

So maybe, she _does_ need to find Christen, if only to ask for her heart back.

.

 

(Or ask for Christen’s, in exchange. Because, yes, that would be really nice.)

.

 

After a few wasted papers, Lindsey, Emily and her finally decide on what to hand out.

It goes like this:

 _#HaveYouSeenHer?_ is screaming in bolded letters right on top. The size is already quite eye catching. What follows are the few things she’s listed down about Christen, sans her name. _Green eyes_ , _long, curly hair_ are all listed in bullet form. And then there’s a sketch of Christen’s face that Tobin has drawn from her very vivid memory.

Right at the foot of the flyer is the number of the prepaid phone she’s rushed out to grab from the nearest convenience store half an hour ago, so she won’t have to compromise her personal number. And the twitter account Lindsey made just for this purpose (that Emily quickly takes upon herself to own under the guise of wanting to help, though Tobin knows it’s _not_ just that).

Lindsey slides the paper to her once she’s done putting the finishing touches. Tobin reads through it one last time before nodding her approval.

Lindsey grins, and then hands her the stack of papers so that she can start copying what they’ve finished.

Tobin stares at it for a moment, face crumpling at the thought of having to draw on every piece of paper they have.

But it’s Emily who throws her hands up in the air in surrender, the one who snaps and says, “Fuck it, I’ll bring this to work tomorrow and get our printers to use for once.”

Christen may be worth Tobin’s everything, but there’s just _no_ way that Tobin’s doing this with just her bare hands.

...

  


**present day**

Tobin feels a gentle hand on her shoulder, breaking her thoughts. When the haze clears, she sees Lindsey snapping her fingers in front of her face.

“You okay? You kinda spaced out for a bit.”

Tobin shakes her head, shaking the remnants of her thoughts out of her system. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. I just remembered something.”

“Okay.” Lindsey drawls, dragging the syllable out as she eyes Tobin. And then asks after a beat, “Ready to go?”

“I probably never will be,” Tobin answers truthfully. But she’s basically saying _fuck it_ to the world today, and she’s going to find Christen even if it’s the last thing she does. So she gathers the flyers in her arms, pressing the stack close to her chest.

Oh yeah, she really is doing this.

.

 

They start at Washington Park of course, at the exact same spot that she and Christen had stood at before they parted ways.

It’s a full circle of sorts or something equally poetic, Tobin likes to think.

Emily and Lindsey stand dutifully beside her. Lindsey’s trying so hard not to bounce on her feet in excitement, but she’s failing.

Emily, meanwhile, completely has her cool. But then, Lindsey’s fishing out Emily’s phone from her pocket and thrusting it into her hands, then she’s telling her to turn the camera on, and _now_ she’s having a field day.

Which Tobin very much protests to. “You never mentioned filming it!”

“It’s for posterity,” Lindsey counters. “A good story to tell the grandkids, you know.”

Tobin is about to lob back another protest when Lindsey spots a middle-aged couple passing by, and decides that she will be handing their first ever flyer to them. She figures people in love will have soft spots, and their positive reaction will give them the confidence boost they—just _Tobin_ , really—obviously need.

“Hi!” She happily greets, stepping forward eagerly. She feels the ghost of Tobin’s fingers on her elbow, but she soldiers on, grinning toothily at the couple.

“Hello young lady,” the middle-aged woman greets back kindly. “May I help you?”

“My friends and I are looking for someone,” Lindsey explains. “Will you take a flyer and maybe you can help us find her?”

The woman puts a hand on her chest, cooing, while the other reaches forward to pinch her cheek. “You are such a nice lady, helping your friends. Of course, we’d love to help, won’t we honey?” She turns to her husband who simply grunts in response.

Lindsey keeps her grin, but her jaw clenches at the action. (She’s a grown ass woman _for heaven’s sake_ , not a child.)

But the elderly woman’s saying that she’ll take more to give to her neighbors, and that alone makes up for it.

“Good luck on your search!” The woman says before walking away.

When Lindsey comes back to her friends, Emily’s laughing in disbelief and Tobin is shaking her head.

“I didn’t think you could pull that off,” Tobin admits.

“It’s coz I’m adorable.”

“Yep,” Emily agrees, popping the _p_. She darts a hand out, pinching Lindsey’s cheek the same way the woman did. “That’s it, really.”

“Sonnett!”

.

 

Lindsey sticks to handing out the flyers as they walk around, having proven that she can charm most of the people if not all, while Tobin and Emily busy themselves with putting them up on every surface available and within reach.

Mal has come along too after Lindsey shoots her a text. Though, really, her reasons for going are more of to get Tobin to blush hard on cam (because it’s _so_ going on Facebook), than to help. And Lindsey may or may not have bribed her with a free meal (that is going on Tobin’s tab, Tobin just doesn’t know it yet).

 _So this is what the duct tape is for_ , Tobin thinks as she helps Mal secure the paper on one of the posts dedicated for putting up flyers. She still can’t believe Lindsey got her to think that it really was for a project.

At least it’s nowhere near the worst thoughts her brain has come up with, like hands and feet tied together with duct tape or something as equally morbid.

She seriously needs to lay off watching those late night murder shows.

Better yet, she _needs_ to stop her brain from replaying Christen’s smile over and over in her head, just so it won’t keep her up at night.

.

 

By the time lunchtime comes, Lindsey’s enthusiasm has noticeably lessened and Mal’s whining about her stomach grumbling, so Tobin decides to take a break and grab some food from the nearest place they can find.

She leads them to one of the booths of the diner they chose and flags down the waitress right away.

As Tobin opens her mouth to place their orders, Emily gets this _wicked_ smirk on her face and rushes to cut her off. “Hi! You look like a really nice lady.”

“Dude, _no_ ,” Tobin voices out a horrified protest as she catches sight of the twinkle in Emily's eyes.

But Emily prattles on like she didn’t hear a thing, and oh, _God_ , Tobin is going to die from embarrassment.

“Can you help us find my friend’s soulmate? She’s looking for her.” Emily reaches for a few flyers and hands them off to the waitress. Then, she juts her chin out, pointing at the wall opposite her that’s filled with all sorts of glossy papers and parchments. “Can you post them here?”

“Soulmate, huh?” The waitress says, accepting the papers with arched eyebrows and an amused smile. “Well, we can’t stand in the way of that, can we? I’ll make sure to post these right away.”

“Thank you!” Emily replies. “Also, we’ll all have four cheeseburgers and fries. And _oooh_ , lemonade.”

“Alrighty. Be right back with your orders.”

Lindsey throws her head back, cackling as Mal snickers beside her. While Emily returns their attention to them with the most innocent smile on her face.

Tobin’s jaw falls open, her mouth moving like a fish that’s out of the water. She’s too stunned to speak, too stunned to tell Emily that no, she’s definitely not in love with Christen.

Not _yet_ , at least.

And oh, that she really, _really_ shouldn’t be telling people that.

.

 

(Except, Emily never really did say she was in love with Christen.

It was a possibility she just willingly admitted to herself.

 _Well fuck_.)

...

  


Late afternoon comes and Tobin and Emily are practically dead on their feet. Lindsey, on the other hand, is still as enthusiastic as ever, handing out flyers and pointing at the perfect spots to post.

There’s about ten pieces left when they finally decide to head home. She’s inserting her key on their door when her prepaid phone rings for the first time ever.

Her eyes widen in surprise, her hands suspended in the air. For a moment she absolutely doesn’t know what to do other than stay frozen, but Lindsey nudges her and tells her to pick up the call.

“Tobin, pick up! That could be her!” Lindsey practically shouts.

Tobin nods rather dumbly. Her hand is violently shaking as she takes the phone out of her pocket, and she almost can’t steady her thumb long enough to tap at the answer button.

But she _does_ , finally. With her heart pounding beneath her chest, she presses the phone against her ear.

“He-hello?”

“ _Hey_ ,” A voice greets her from the other line. Distinctly deep and not… Christen. Nor a woman at all. “ _You’re the girl from the park earlier, right? The one handing out the flyers?_ ”

“Yup, that’s me,” Tobin confirms. She chances a glance towards her friends, breaking into a smile when she sees them looking back at her with eager anticipation.

“ _Oh, good,_ ” the man breathes out. “ _Uhm, listen, this is kinda unusual but, I saw you at the park earlier. And uh…_ ”

“And what?” Tobin politely asks, though she has a feeling where the conversation is going and she’s almost tempted to hang up.

“ _I was thinking you were really pretty,_ ” he finally says.

There’s a pregnant pause where Tobin contemplates on how to respond. She could really just hang up and not bother with answering at all, or she could let loose of some of the frustration building up inside her.

She decides with, “Dude, you did read the flyer, right?”

“ _I did._ ”

“So you know that I’m looking for a _woman_?”

“ _Well yeah, but—"_

“Great!” Tobin says, feigning enthusiasm. “We’re clear then. Peace out.”

She presses the end call button with a grumble, and then slumps against the still closed door in disappointment.

...

  


Her frustration spills out over their dinner, which she only openly admits when Emily sneaks behind her and asks as she stares down at the plate, over Tobin’s shoulder.

“What is _that_?”

“Dinner,” Tobin sighs in defeat. “Or I was hoping it would be.”

Emily grimaces at the thought of having to consume _it_. “Please tell me we’re not going to eat that?”

“Of course not. I already ordered pizza. Should be here in a few.”

“Oh, thank _God_.” She breathes out an overdrawn sigh, masking the snicker that comes with the fact that her phone is filing _evidence_ for posterity. But the shutter sound of her camera gives her away.

“Oh God, _Emily_ ,” Tobin groans, her face flushing with embarrassment. “Can we not immortalize this moment?”

“Sorry, but I can’t let this pass!” She chortles loudly then, now that she’s been caught. She pulls up the twitter application on her phone, types really quickly and attaches the picture of the burned chicken Tobin tried to cook.

_Too damn distracted to do anything right._

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> down to one last chapter after this. hopefully, you all liked this one! :)
> 
> come say hi @geekmythologys.tumblr.com, or yell at me or leave a prompt (tho i can't promise i'd be able to write it right away haha)


	4. iv. but when you're in love all the lines get blurred

It’s a surprisingly quiet three days, with unhelpful phone calls or two. Lindsey pestering Emily and her to make more copies is the only source of ruckus.

And when she gets home, Tobin’s somewhat still a little surprised to find Emily hunched over the coffee table, her eyes glued to her phone. Usually, she gets home to her friends binging on various shows or fighting over who cheated on Rainbow Road.

The apartment is quiet for once; and though it’s admittedly a little bit disconcerting, it’s also a welcomed reprieve.

“You seem kinda busy there,” Tobin says as she drops her keys into the bowl. She plops down next to Emily, looking over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” the younger woman answers, but the way she quickly tucks her phone under her thigh is a dead giveaway.

“Uh huh,” Tobin nods slowly. “Where’s Linds?” She asks in a casual tone, eyes not leaving Emily’s face.

Emily fixes her eyes at a spot on their tv’s screen, pretending to watch. (It would've fooled Tobin, if only it was _actually_ turned on.) “It’s d-day remember? She’s presenting her film idea so she’s gonna be running late.”

Tobin tries to shuffle through her mental notes for _that_ particular reminder, but her days and weeks have blurred into on shift and off days; she can’t even tell what day it is now if anyone asks.

Though she _knows_ that Lindsey’s gonna be up for a big break if she impresses the film panel (which Tobin has no doubt she would).

“Okay,” Tobin drawls, dragging the _a_. Then, she jumps off the couch and faces the direction of her room. “I’m gonna go get changed.”

Emily purses her lips, nods. “‘Kay.” She slides the phone still hidden beneath her thigh, and tilts it up a little, allowing her to glance at the screen.

She would've pumped a fist in the air in triumph, but then, Tobin’s saying, “And you’re going to tell me who’s the lucky girl when I get back.”

Emily falls face down on the couch instead.

.

 

“Her name is Kelley. I met her two months ago,” Emily starts right as Tobin walks out of her room, rather stiffly that Tobin can’t help but roll her eyes.

“Will you chill out? This isn’t an interrogation. Why are you and Lindsey the drama queens that you are?”

“It's a requirement for Lindsey’s industry,” Emily quips back, and then pulls a face at the thought of her other friend. “Mine, though. I think it’s inborn.”

Despite curbing the urge to laugh, Tobin does, and she ends up shoving the younger woman playfully.

“Can we wait for Linds to get home, at least?” Emily asks as soon as their laughter trickles down. “Saves me from telling it twice.”

“Fine,” Tobin acquiesces. “But you’re making dinner for making me wait.”

Emily rolls her eyes and stomps her way to the kitchen, all the while mumbling about studs living up to their titles.

.

 

Tobin gets three phone calls in between waiting for dinner to be done and Lindsey to get home, one of which she desperately wants to bleach out of her brain.

Emily throws her friend a concerned look from her spot by the stove when she hears a constrained scream, followed by a thud that’s akin to solid plastic hitting wood. Tobin’s _Christen_ phone, she’s pretty sure.

“Everything okay there, Tobs?” Emily yells.

As Tobin’s voice draws closer, Emily can hear the frustration in her tone. “Peachy.” She walks into the kitchen and starts grabbing plates, spoons, and forks. “Just some dumb idiot who thinks I’m a phone se—you know what, I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Oh my God. This is gold.”

“Sonnett, I swear to God, _don’t_.”

.

 

Lindsey sadly misses dinner, but not the popcorn since she gets home just as Emily is putting the latest episode of Game of Thrones on.

She’s already shouting _I got the green light, bitches! I’m gonna be rich as fuck_ even though their front door hasn’t been opened completely.

Emily, who’s curled up beside Tobin and around the huge bowl of popcorn, bolts upright, meeting Lindsey with one arm stretched out. “You got it?!”

“I so _fucking_ did!”

Lindsey next yells something unintelligible that Emily apparently understands; Tobin can only shake her head.

She watches her two friends do some sort of crazy dance in the middle of their living room, and finds herself laughing. Lindsey’s well on her way to being the next big thing and Emily’s met a girl after a long while.

Tobin thinks at least two out of three has got luck by their side.

…

 

It's almost midnight by the time Lindsey’s high comes down, and it’s only then that Emily gets to tell them all about Kelley.

“I was getting coffee and she was getting two cups,” Emily starts.

Lindsey, who has her head on Emily’s lap and her feet on Tobin’s, glances up to look at the other woman. “You sure she’s single?”

“She said it was for her friend.”

Tobin’s fingers stop massaging Lindsey’s calf as she raises an eyebrow at Emily. “You asked?”

Emily shakes her head in answer. “She said she needed to go because her friend was waiting, but that she’d love to buy me coffee some time so she asked for my number.”

Lindsey’s shoulders shake as laughter bubbles out of her throat. “Shoot her a text and tell her Tobin wants to take Dating 101 lessons from her.”

“Hey!” Tobin pinches her leg in retaliation.

Lindsey lets out a small yelp, and quickly darts a hand out to soothe the offended spot. Emily just laughs a throaty chuckle, a telltale sign of her sleepy state. Tobin thinks they need to go to bed sometime soon.

She lets her weight drop against the couch rest as she closes her eyes, asking in between yawns. “Learned anything interesting about her yet?”

“She says she’s in the Secret Service.”

“Why is your life like a movie?” Lindsey wonders aloud, managing to sound like she’s in complete disbelief and _offended_ at the same time. “Who did you sell your soul to?”

Tobin snorts, and then adds. “She didn’t. It’s just to make up for my lack of it.”

...

 

The week passes by without a worthy phone call, and by Friday, Tobin’s tempted to shut the prepaid phone off. But she can’t really bring herself to do it, because the mere fact that there’s a chance Christen would call, no matter how slim, keeps that spark of hope in her heart alive.

(Lindsey has told her that their search is starting to create a buzz on twitter, though she honestly doesn’t have an idea what _that_ implies. But Lindsey seems to be happy with that progress so it’s probably something good, Tobin supposes.)

Saturday morning is spent doing grocery shopping, staving off phone calls in favor of peace.

(Granted, she’s standing in the middle of Aisle 23, surrounded by chattering teens, crying kids and their harried mothers, and soft music blaring from the speakers.

This fact alone is pretty telling to Tobin’s current state of mind.)

The only call she ever picks up is the fifth one, when the rings echo all over the empty car park and gets _too_ much.

Tobin pushes the trunk lid close with her left hand, her right fishing the phone out of her back pocket.

Her _hello_ is muffled by the thud of the trunk closing.

“ _Uh, hi_ ,” comes from the other end—a woman, and Tobin feels her heart turn over beneath her chest.

“Yeah?”

“ _I read that you’re looking for somebody_.”

Tobin presses the phone tighter in her ear, folds her free arm over her chest. “Yup, you heard right.”

The line is silent for a while save for a few coughs from the caller, as if she’s clearing her throat.

Tobin doesn’t really have the time—and the patience—to spend any second longer, so she says, “May I know why you called? Do you know the woman I’m looking for?”

“ _How do you know it’s not me?_ ”

Tobin wants to say: _I’d know her voice anywhere_.

Instead, she says, “I’d know.”

Tobin wants to say: _I’d know her accent; the soft way it wraps around each word. And my name_.

Instead, she repeats, “I’d know if you were her, trust me.”

The line falls silent once again for a few beats; Tobin gets enough of it in between. She pushes herself off from leaning against the trunk, bids the caller goodbye with, “So if you don’t have anything useful to say, please don’t waste my time.”

Pressing the end call button has never felt more frustrating yet satisfying.

...

 

“I wonder if she’s CIA,” Emily muses out loud. “That would explain why none of us can’t find anything, right?”

Tobin walks out of the kitchen and into the living room, dropping her entire weight on top of the vacant spot by their long couch. She lets her back fall against the armrest, her elbows stretching out the kinks she’s gotten from carrying the groceries up their apartment.

“Or the witness protection,” Lindsey adds from her spot in the middle, nodding to herself. “What if Christen isn’t even her real name?”

Emily lifts herself up from her recline to look at Tobin. “What if she’s seen our flyers but she’s not calling because she’s not allowed to?”

“Okay, you two,” Tobin interrupts before her friends can even delve into the worst _what ifs_ , raising an index finger in warning. “Calm down.”

“But, dude, you gotta admit, it would make a lot of sense.”

“Or maybe, she’s just a very private person?”

“Oh.” Emily tilts her head, clearly thinking. “Good point.”

“I think the more important matter here is,” Lindsey speaks, filling in after Emily drops back her weight against the couch rest without another word. “Does Tobin know the first thing she’d say to Christen _when_ we find her?”

Emily returns her gaze back at her friend; a wordless agreement.

Tobin stays silent for a beat as she tries hard not to squirm under her friends’ expectant stares. But the way she nibbles at her lower lip sort of gives her away. “I don’t know. _Hi_ , I guess.”

“Really?” Emily throws her a surprised look, then, “dude, that’s super lame!”

“Well, I can’t really ask her where she’s been,” Tobin can’t help but defend. “That’d be rude.”

“But you can’t say just hi, either!”

“I’ll figure it out,” Tobin dismisses, waving a hand off. “We don’t even know if it’s ever going to happen.”

“Aren’t you just the most precious ray of sunshine,” teases Emily. She lifts both her hands and gestures her wiggling fingers in the air, “and rainbows.”

Tobin chuckles softly, shooting a playful foot out to shove at Emily’s leg. “Shut up! I’m serious.”

Emily swats at Tobin’s foot, says, “As was I.”

“It doesn’t look good at this point, I _know_ ,” Lindsey admits. “But it’s not a bad thing either. It’s just going to take some time.”

“Oh _she’s_ taking her time, alright,” Tobin can’t help but grumble.

“We’ll find her, Tobs,” Lindsey tries to reassure. She sits up and wraps her fingers around Tobin’s arm in comfort.

“And if we don’t?”

“We will,” Lindsey says, voice carrying an unspoken promise.

Tobin pulls both her knees against her chest, wrapping her arm around her legs. “Yeah. Okay,” she whispers almost inaudibly.

And they both _almost_ believe it.

...

 

Lindsey’s already in front of her laptop when she wakes up the next morning, scrolling through twitter as she’s prone to do these days.

She’s still convinced that they’ll find Christen soon, her faith unwavering in a way that admittedly, Tobin admires.

So she lets her be, instead focusing on making breakfast for them. From its spot, the phone rings as it usually does the past days, but Tobin’s determined to ignore it. She’s not prepared to deal with any kind of crazy at seven in the morning.

“Hey,” she calls out to Lindsey, who is busy munching on the contents of the cereal box. “Mind setting the table? I’ll take care of the food.”

“Yeah, sure,” she follows, surprisingly obedient. She grabs the utensils and begins to go around the table, laying the plates down while still keeping an eye on the twitter page.

Tobin can’t help but smile at that, laughing softly to herself. But it turns into deep sighs because Lindsey may not be losing hope, but she’s starting to. It’s been how many weeks since they posted the flyers, and there’s not even a tiny lead that has surfaced.

She misses Christen, she really does, and her heart sort of aches whenever she thinks about her. But Tobin knows that they may have to stop whatever they’re doing soon, before it starts affecting all of them.

It seems harmless right now, but Tobin knows that it would hurt them in some way at some point, though she’s not sure _how_. But it will, and she has to stop that from cutting in deep.

.

 

A knock on their door disrupts their quiet breakfast.

Tobin’s unsuspecting as she comes to answer. With the series of disappointments filling her week, she’s not really banking on it being someone of importance. Probably just a delivery guy that got lost, she thinks.

It’s _not_ a guy that greets her when she yanks the door open, though. It’s a woman, who looks petite yet dressed to the nines, from her black suit down to her heeled boots, with an earpiece _that_ automatically lists her as _suspicious_ in Tobin’s books.

“Uh,” Tobin’s forehead scrunches, “Can I help you?”

“On the contrary,” the woman speaks, in a deep tone that uncannily matches the way that she’s dressed. “I think _I_ can help you.”

“Sorry, but I already have a complete set of Harry Potter back home _._ I’m not interested,” she says with a shake of the head.

She moves to turn back and close the door with a polite smile, but the laugh that rumbles from the woman’s chest stops Tobin. Though it’s the woman’s next words that makes her stay. “Trust me, you’d want to know this, Tobin Heath.”

Tobin stiffens upon hearing her call her by her full name, and her feet spring forward instead, bringing the door closer to its frame while the rest of her body blocks her view through the ample space. “Who are you?” She hisses. “How do you know my name?”

The woman only holds out a paper— _the_ flyer—in response.

Tobin stares at it in confusion. But then she remembers— _realizes_ that they never indicated anything but the phone number and Lindsey’s twitter thing, so she says, “I never wrote my name in there.”

“I know,” she answers. “And I also know that you’ve been searching for Christen all this time.”

Tobin exhales sharply. She feels her body start to tremble, the emotions rushing in—the fear that she’s nothing but a creep who wants something from her, and the anticipation that she really might know who Christen is.

But she has to make sure of her—and her friends’—safety first.

“Who are you?! How do you know her?!”

“That day you saw her,” she says, then, “I was with her that night.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Tobin feels all the air rush out of her lungs, so swiftly that she stumbles back just to keep up with her breathing.

She places a hand over her chest and rubs at it until whatever’s squeezing her heart lets up (though _it_ never does). “S-she said she was meeting a friend. In case I was wondering.”

“And she was,” she confirms. “I _am_ that friend.”

Tobin stares at her, her eyes tracing every inch of her face for any sign of deceit. But she has schooled it to an inscrutable expression that doesn’t give anything away.

“How do I know that you’re for real?” She questions with a narrow, pointed gaze. She really won’t put it past people these days to try and ruin one of the best things that had happened to her life.

It’s almost amusing, the way she rolls her eyes, but Tobin refuses to lose her ground.

“Ask Emily.”

 _Okay_ , Tobin’s mind screams, as she tries to calm her racing breaths. This woman knows _way_ too much about her.

Tobin waves a hand out, as if slicing at the air, and closes her fist. But it’s actually her trying to rein her control in.

“You know what, whatever you and Christen do is your business. Leave me out of it,” she says. Though, she can only taste _bitter_ on her tongue as the words spill out of her mouth, her stomach turning over at the thought of Christen being with someone else.

“Oh for God’s sake,” a voice from behind the woman echoes. And it’s only then that Tobin notices that the woman is accompanied by a taller one.

She has black hair too, and full cheeks, with a wicked glare that would make even someone as defiant as Emily cower.

“Whatever you’re thinking, that’s not it,” the taller woman insists. “She was with her because _Chris_ isn’t allowed to travel alone.”

At that, Tobin feels her heart hammer beneath her chest. “Is she in trouble?” She asks, right away, not even bothering to ask who the other woman—or these people are, really.

“She’s not,” the smaller of the two assures, to Tobin’s relief. “And I can explain everything to you if you let us in.”

Tobin’s jaw clenches, wrestling with indecision at first. But _Christen_ honestly wins over anything at this point, so she nods once, and it’s firm.

She yanks the door open, gesturing for them to come in. But not before sending out a warning. “I have a… pan in the kitchen, just so you know. And I won’t hesitate to use it, so don’t try anything funny.”

“You have my word,” the smaller woman says, nostrils flaring as she tries to reign in her amusement. She sits down on the couch next, perched in a way that Tobin thinks can’t be comfortable at all. The taller woman follows quietly, sitting next to her.

Just as she opens her mouth to speak, both Emily and Lindsey walk out of the kitchen, wondering what has taken Tobin so long.

Emily’s _hey, food’s ready_ turns into a surprised gasp, then, “Kelley?!”

Tobin turns her head so fast she honestly feels like she just got a whiplash. “This is _her?_ ” She returns her gaze back to the woman who hasn’t stopped smiling at Emily since she set foot in the living room. “You’re Kelley?”

The woman in a suit—well, _Kelley_ —finally tears her eyes away from her friend. “Yes. But that’s not what I— _we_ are here for.”

“Right,” Tobin nods as she remembers the conversation (if she could call what ensued in between her door and hallway _one_ ). The knowledge that this woman is Emily’s _Kelley_ sort of eases the feeling of distrust that has been pressing in on her chest. “You said you knew I’ve been looking for Christen.”

Kelley nods in response. “And I think it’s just fair to say that she looked for you, too, and found you.”

“But,” Tobin starts, yet breaks with a pregnant pause.

Because Christen looked for her, _and_ found her, but Tobin never received even _one_ word.

And that, _that_ just leaves her with a growing feeling of uncertainty, and fear that maybe, _maybe_ , she was all alone in this, after all.

...

 

She goes quiet, locking herself in in her own thoughts. Maybe she got in over her head. Maybe the silence from Christen’s part meant she should’ve stopped.

A steaming mug of coffee appears in her vision, coaxing her out of her head. When she looks up, it’s Lindsey, smiling kindly at her.

“Tobin,” Lindsey softly calls, “listen to what she has to say first, before you let yourself get lost in there, okay?”

She taps Tobin’s temple twice before pushing the mug into Tobin’s hands.

 _Thanks_ , Tobin mouths at her before turning her attention back to Kelley. “Sorry, I just…” She trails off, free hand gesturing without direction until she lets it fall limply on her lap.

“She’s right,” Kelley says after a good long beat. “We’re here because Christen’s—”

“Acting like a middle schooler with a crush,” the taller woman she’s with finishes for her.

Despite feeling her heart turn over in her chest—for entirely different reasons this time—Tobin manages to ask _I’m sorry but who are you_?, wading through the jolt that runs down her spine at the implication of the other woman’s words.

“Channing, I’m Christen’s—”

“Sister,” Tobin blurts out in realization, the same time the woman— _Channing_ —spills out the fact.

Then, Channing smirks. “I see you and my sister have been talking.”

“We’re not… it was _that_ one night.”

Channing’s nod is drawled out, smirk still in place. “Sometimes, one night is all it takes.”

A fiery red blush darkens Tobin’s cheeks, matched with a squeak that she never even knew she could make. “We didn’t—”

“Breathe, Tobs,” Lindsey says in between her stifled laughter. “We _know_. You couldn’t even get her number.”

Tobin plucks the pillow behind her and lobs it across their coffee table as a retort, in a fast pitch and perfect aim that has the pillow hitting Lindsey square in the face.

“Children please,” Emily chides. But it’s more out of the fear of being embarrassed in front of Kelley by a bunch of people she dared to call her friends six years ago. “Can we go back to the matter at hand?”

Kelley, in turn, throws her a grateful smile.

“For the record, I told her to call and just get it over with,” Channing says matter-of-factly. “But my sister’s all about doing things the _right_ way, at the perfect time.”

Tobin drops her weight against the chair rest, reeling from the new found knowledge.

Though, amidst everything, she can’t help but smile.

.

 

“Okay, that does explain a lot,” Tobin ponders out loud, when her brain is finally able to catch up. “Why I never got a call or anything. But that doesn’t really explain why you’re here?”

“Christen has been a little distant since she came back from Portland.” It’s Kelley who fills in this time. “The President is worried.”

As if on cue, Tobin, Lindsey and Emily all turn to gape at her with wide eyes, and then shout their varying levels of shock, “The President?!”

Channing’s smirk morphs into an amused, smug grin. Then, she says, “Tobin Heath, meet my older sister, Christen Press.”

...

 

Tobin swallows visibly as the name bounces in her head, jogging for memories, until it hits a block that was from seven years years ago. “Oh my _fucking_ God.”

“Way to go, Tobs!” Emily doesn’t resist the urge to tip her head back this time, and cackles. “You sure know how to pick ‘em!”

“I’m actually here at the President’s request,” Kelley presses on, ignoring the boom of Emily’s laughter to carry out her task at hand. “His birthday is coming up, and I was asked to take you to DC.”

“What, like, to surprise him, or Christen?” Lindsey presses further.

“Well, I mean, Christen, of course. But only if it’s okay with you,” she answers truthfully. “If you’re not comfortable, that’s fine. We will never force you into anything.”

Tobin is silent, but her heart is pounding in her ears, so loud that she has to scan the room surreptitiously out of fear that someone else can hear.

She swallows her heart down that’s been trying to climb up in throat, then, asks almost in a whisper. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” Kelley answers without any hesitation. “Of course you can.”

“How much time do I have?”

“I’ll be here for three days. Please take that time to decide.”

...

 

 _Christen Annemarie Press_ , her brain whispers to her that night she lays on her bed.

She was in the papers and magazines the entire year after the President was elected for his first term. Tobin vaguely remembers reading a TIME magazine cover that featured the First family on a flight back to New Jersey, and a very much younger Christen back then who looked quite different.

Until she wasn’t, and the media had moved on to newer things. It was like she dropped off of the face of the earth.

Tobin is sure that there is an explanation; what she _isn’t_ is if she’s prepared to find out, or for any of _this_ , at all.

...

 

The morning greets them with a certain kind of mood, or rather, Tobin faces the morning with the most conflicted feelings.

It’s the quietest breakfast they’ve ever had, mostly composed of Tobin pushing her eggs around while Lindsey and Emily look at her with utmost concern.

“Do you think I should do it?” She finally asks, when the silence, and the scrape of silverware against porcelain gets too much.

For the first time since _everything_ , Lindsey doesn’t have anything to say. So she throws a pleading look across the table, asking for Emily’s help.

Emily sneaks a nod at her before speaking. “I think, deep down, you already know what you want to do.”

Tobin brings her head up to meet Emily’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Emily smiles, not unkind nor teasing. “You wouldn’t be looking for her all this time if you didn’t.”

Tobin sighs and closes her eyes, thinking about Christen’s smile. The fact is that the mere memory shoots a warmth down to her spine, and that hasn’t changed at all, President’s daughter or not.

So Tobin reaches for her phone and taps on speed dial eight, while Emily picks hers up and fires a message.

“Allie, I need a favor.”

_Babe, can you tell the White House chef that I’m DEATHLY allergic to shrimps? D E A T H L Y. Definitely should be off the menu._

...

 

“The President’s daughter,” Emily murmurs as she stares in awe, eyes roaming all over the front porch of the White House. “Who would have known?”

Lindsey grunts her agreement, scowls, and then bemoans. “Again, how are your lives like movies and mine isn’t?”

“I suggest we all move along,” Channing speaks, probably for the first time since they’ve flown out of Portland. Tobin honestly almost forgot she’s with them. “Before your friend here starts throwing a tantrum.”

“Hey!” Lindsey throws back, but can’t really manage to be mad at the slight because it does have some truth in it.

Lindsey tears her eyes away from Channing, clears her throat as an attempt to nurse her pride back. Then, asks, “So what do you say, Tobs? Are you ready to meet the President’s second daughter?”

“She’s Christen, Linds,” Tobin answers with a soft yet earnest grin. “She’s just Christen to me.”

...

 

By the White House backyard, on an overcast day, this is when she sees Christen again.

She’s sprawled all over the grass, right hand buried in on the patch of white fur that runs from a brown mixed breed’s chest down to her belly.

The dog is lying on her back, and from her spot, Tobin can see her tongue lolling out as Christen continues to scratch and coo.

(As if Tobin needed one more reason to be completely smitten.)

Tobin finds her feet growing a mind of their own as they uproot themselves off the ground, and take quiet steps towards Christen.

Her knees buckle just as she reaches the empty spot right next to the woman, plopping beside her.

Her voice finds its own accord. “So I heard it’s your dad’s birthday.”

Her lips draw courage from Christen’s stunned face, shaping into a shy smile at Christen’s breathless “Tobin.”

“Hey,” Tobin husks in turn, “So we meet again, huh?”

Christen only sighs out jagged breaths, her chin quivering and her chest shaking as she expels air.

It genuinely feels like an eternity has passed, but Tobin visibly exhales relief when she hears Christen faintly murmur, “You’re here,” as if she’s trying to convince herself that this vision of Tobin sitting in front of her is _real_.

And then, Christen smiles, eyes soft and even greener than Tobin remembers, and Tobin feels her world right itself all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it, the last chapter! thank you guys for sticking around, and i really do hope you guys liked how the entire thing panned out. :) till next time! but you can always hmu @ geekmythologys.tumblr.com ;)

**Author's Note:**

> still one of the fics i've been editing to make it t&c (and one of the last two i have rip). thanks for reading, and i hope you like it!
> 
> and oooh, hmu @ geekmythologys.tumblr.com :D


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